


A House or A Home

by wordyanansi



Series: Bellarke Fic Week - July 2015 [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Bellarke Fic Week, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Octavia's fault, really. She was the one who told him he had to get help apartment hunting. Admittedly, he probably didn't have to get it from Clarke...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House or A Home

**Author's Note:**

> I rewrote this story three times and I don't like the ending but I love the idea of Bellamy being a moron and getting himself into a thing without realising hes doing it.
> 
> un-betad and it probably shows

Bellamy Blake leaned in the doorway of Clarke Griffin’s office, pro bono tenancy case in hand, and charming grin in place. Clarke attempted to ignore him, focussing on her computer, but he could see by the slight press of her mouth that she knew he was there.

“I have a tenancy case,” Bellamy said. Clarke raised her eyebrows, but didn’t look away from her computer.

“Junior Partner Bellamy Blake needs the help of a lowly fourth year associate?” she replies archly, recalling their last argument, when he’d pulled rank and co-opted her into helping with a class action suit the previous week. But… he grinned.

“I assume you mean that you forgive me and congratulate me on my promotion?” Bellamy asks, earning himself a glare, but her lips are twisted in something more like a smile than a scowl, so he calls it a win.

“Congratulations on being made junior partner,” Clarke tells him, still looking at him darkly.

“Thanks Clarke,” Bellamy says, trying not to be unbearably smug. “Now, about this case-”

“Are you pulling rank or asking?” she says, challenge in her voice. But she’s looking at him differently now, and it is at moments like this one that Bellamy feels like he might be allowed to nurture his little crush on her. But it’s a precipice. And the wrong answer will have him falling of the proverbial cliff. But this test isn’t as hard as some of her others.

“Asking,” Bellamy says, and she’s almost definitely smiling now.

“I do have my own cases you know,” Clarke points out, folding her arms and looking up at him properly. “I can’t just be at your beck and call.” Bellamy tries not to smirk too obviously, because that’s ‘Clarke’ for agreement.

“I know,” Bellamy says. “But you’re uniquely qualified.” Clarke looks at him suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like you aren’t speaking about my aptitude with finances?” she sighs. Bellamy grins.

“Meet me outside Grounder Coffee at 2pm tomorrow,” he says, and walks out of the room.

“That’s not an answer, Blake,” Clarke shouts after him. He doesn’t answer, and grins smugly. He knows that curiosity will get her there.

 

He’s on the sidewalk holding a large skinny mocha with caramel and marshmallows and a bear claw at 1:50pm the next day, and Clarke eyes him suspiciously as she approaches.

“Caramel mocha and a bear claw?” she asks. “Christ. I’m not going to like this am I?” Bellamy hands them to her and smiles.

“Well, you might. I don’t know what kind of fantasies you’ve had about me,” Bellamy teases. She glares at him.

“Murdering you, mainly. Slow and painful,” she offers before taking a large bite out of her bearclaw. She can barely fit in her mouth and he smiles at her affectionately for a moment, forgetting himself as she tilts her head, trying to fit the extra pastry in her mouth. Then he coughs, remembering himself.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” Bellamy says, walking down the road. Clarke steps quickly to catch up, and then falls in beside him.

“Late for what?” she mumbles around the remains of her mouthful.

“Apartment viewing,” Bellamy says shortly. She nods.

“Tenancy case,” Clarke states, remembering. He doesn’t say anything. Probably best not to, at this point he thinks. Clarke doesn’t say anything else, choosing to finish her bearclaw instead.

 

They come to a stop in front of nice looking apartment building five minutes from the coffee shop, and Bellamy opens the door for Clarke to enter ahead of him. She raises her eyebrows in question.

“Class action? Illegal tenancy cancellations for refurbs?” Clarke asks softly, leaning towards him. He is saved from having to answer by Harper, the realtor, calling out to him.

“Ah, Mr. Blake, excellent. And this is your wife, Clarke?” Harper says. Bellamy smiles and steps forward, offering his hand for a shake. He can feel Clarke’s fury.

“Yes, it is. Shall we go up?” Bellamy asks pleasantly, and Harper nodded and started on her spiel about the building.

“You’re an asshole,” Clarke mutters under her breath. “Your wife.”

“It’s a good cover,” Bellamy says softly. He can hear her grinding her teeth.

“Uniquely qualified?” Clarke hisses. “What the hell did you mean by ‘uniquely qualified’? When we get out of here I swear to god, Blake, I should file a fucking sexual harassment claim.”

“Aren’t you two adorable?” Harper asks, looking at them, and they look up and smile at her.

“Aren’t we just?” Bellamy asks, putting his arm around her. She pinches his side and he tries not to wince.

“We’re something,” Clarke says. And then she turns to look at the room. “I love the ceilings in this place. Room to breathe. And these floors! Is this the original hardwood?” she asks, without thinking. Bellamy grinned. That was what he meant by uniquely qualified. To him, it was just a place, but Clarke it somehow seemed more.

“Not original, but the wood is recycled from railway sleepers,” Harper says. “But the crown moulding is original.” Clarke runs her hand along a window frame.

“The natural light is amazing,” she comments. Bellamy watches her, and for the first time he thinks he might have made the tiniest of tactical errors with this scheme. He wants to blame Octavia, but she’d only instructed he get help, not trick the work colleague he had a thing for to help him visualise living somewhere.

“The window glass has been replaced with double glazed,” Harper offers. “And the pipes have been redone with the refurbishment last year.” Clarke wanders off to the first bedroom, and Bellamy finds himself trailing after her.

“Oh, it’s got a bay windows with a window seat!” she exclaims. “I’ve always loved them. I imagine curling up there with a book. Morning light. So the bed would be over here,” Clarke says, turning to indicate the space. Bellamy can picture waking up on a Sunday morning, late, and seeing her curled up with a book, waiting for him to wake. He shakes his head, clearing the picture.

“Really? Over there? I would have thought the bed should go on that wall,” he says, really more for something to say. Clarke gives him a look of disgust.

“And your sister’s an interior designer,” she scoffs. “She must despair of you.” Bellamy laughs, because it’s true.

“Come on, come critique the bathroom with me,” Bellamy says, and leads her out of the room.

 

He says goodbye to Harper, and promises to call her about the place when they’ve had a chance to talk, and guides Clarke out of the building.

“So, what did you think of the apartment?” Bellamy asks, trying to be casual. Clarke gives him a strange look.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she asks. “If it’s for a tenancy case?” Bellamy shrugs.

“It’s just a question, Clarke,” he tries, attempting not to be more awkward than he has ever been before and failing spectacularly. She gives him a piercing look, and somehow, she sees through him in a heartbeat.

“You bastard,” Clarke breathes, eyes widening with the realisation. “Oh my god. You used me! For… this has nothing to do with that bloody tenancy case, does it?” Bellamy grinned sheepishly.

“I am so filing the sexual harassment claim,” Clarke says darkly. “I really hope you thought it was going to take more than a fucking bearclaw and a coffee. And you better have a decent explanation for this, Bellamy, or I swear to god…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“It’s Octavia’s fault,” he says, and Clarke raises her eyebrows expectantly. “I’m trying to buy an apartment and I have no idea what I’m doing. Every listing I send her is met with disgust and she said I couldn’t take Miller, and I thought you’d know what to look for.” Clarke is less angry, but she’s still not pleased.

“And so instead of asking for my help like a normal person, you trick me into thinking it is for a case?” Clarke asks. “Because that’s logical.” Bellamy grins wryly.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d do it if I just asked. And, if we’re being honest, I was hoping I could string you along for a couple more viewings,” he admits. Clarke does laugh at that, he can see that she wants to stay mad at him, but she’s failing.

“You’re an idiot,” she says, but it’s almost affectionate. “You should have asked.” Bellamy takes a moment to absorb this information.

“So you would have said yes?” he asks. “If I asked you?” Clarke snorts.

“No way,” Clarke returns, and Bellamy huffs out a laugh.

“I really do have a tenancy case, you know,” Bellamy offers. Clarke laughs again, incredulous.

“No fucking way, Blake,” Clarke tells him.

 

When they get back to the office, she catches his arm before he heads to his office. He looks down at her hand on his forearm, and follows it up to her face. She’s smiling in the soft, honest way she does when Monty Green, a paralegal, sits in her office, talking to her. She hasn’t looked like that at him before, and he finds he’s almost captivated by it.

“You need an ensuite,” she says. Bellamy raises his eyebrows, failing to connect the dots. She rolls her eyes. “For your apartment. You are looking at two bedrooms and an office because the second room will always be hers, Octavia's, I mean. She’ll use the master and you and your conquests will use the ensuite.” Bellamy doesn’t quite know what to say, so he just keeps looking at her. She startles after a beat, and drops his arm. Bellamy swallows thickly, trying to make his brain catch up with the conversation.

“I don’t have conquests anymore,” Bellamy says, because somehow that seems relevant. “But you’re right. Thanks.” She smiles at him.

“When’s your next viewing?” she asks him. And his brow furrows.

“You said you wouldn’t help me if I asked,” Bellamy comments. And Clarke smiles, teasing, but her eyes are soft and he thinks he could drown in them.

“Well, you’re not asking. I’m offering. And I feel sorry for you. What kind of grown man can’t pick an apartment to buy?” Clarke says and Bellamy grins.

“I’ll let you know. Thanks Clarke,” Bellamy says, and he watches her walk away. He mentally reviews the list in his head, trying to remember which ones had bay windows.

 

He calls Octavia that night to let her know that the apartment search was making progress.

“I think I need an ensuite,” Bellamy tells her. “The place I looked at today was great. High ceilings, natural light, window seat in the master. But it only had one bathroom.” There is a moment of silence on the phone.

“What’s her name?” she asks, suspicious. Bellamy shakes his head and wonders why he bothers attempting to keep secrets for her.

“What’s who’s name?” he says, not even bothering to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Oh my god, it’s the blonde one, isn’t it? From the office. Clarke,” Octavia says. Bellamy screws his face up, preparing.

“Yeah, it is,” he admits.

“Why didn’t tell me you were dating her?” Octavia demands. “This is the kind of shit you are meant to tell me, Bell. You’ve liked her for ages!”

“What?” he asks, confused. “Wait. We aren’t dating,” he clarifies. Octavia clicks her tongue and sighs.

“So you’re just sleeping with her then?” Octavia asks, disgusted.

“Christ, O! None of the above. I tricked her into coming to a viewing with me, and then she took pity on me, because apparently you were right and I am pathetic, so she agreed to help me look,” Bellamy explains. Octavia sighs again.

“You do know you’ve got a thing for her though, right? I mean, I’d hate to think you were that stupid,” she says, tired. Bellamy sighs.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I know.”

“You’re an idiot,” Octavia tells him. “She’s going to figure it out and you’ll be stuck with an apartment that you can’t stop thinking about her in.”

“I could get over it,” Bellamy says, attempting a hopeful tone. Octavia scoffs.

“You’re an idiot. Have fun with that,” Octavia tells him. “I’ve got to go, Lincoln’s home.”

“Stay safe, O,” Bellamy says, and she disconnects. She’s probably right, he’s definitely an idiot.

 

He knows the second that he walks into fourth apartment with Clarke that this is the one. The door opens and there is a small foyer that opens up into a lounge room with polished wood floors, large bay windows lined with seats and bathed in the afternoon light. He stands on the border between the two rooms, looks out the windows onto a park and he knows that he’s standing in his apartment. He feels Clarke move to stand beside him, and he reaches out and takes her hand. And then he realises that it’s not his apartment he’s standing in, it’s theirs. He turns to look at Clarke, and sensing his movement, she looks up at him, smiling.

“Isn’t it great?” she asks, giving his hand a squeeze. He smiles back.

“Yeah, it really is,” he tells her, and then he lets go of her hand and tries to force himself to remember that there is no them. Clarke starts talking about how to set up the rooms, and about the features of the apartment, and the realtor (Roma… something, he thinks) agrees with her, and points other things out. Bellamy follows them, walking through the kitchen that he’s going to cook the things his mother used to make in, the office where he’s going to install floor to ceiling shelves… he stands in the master bedroom and listens to Clarke talk about where the bed should go, and he just stares at her. She’s talking about the type of furniture that should go in the room (nothing thick or bulky, maybe wrought iron?) when she turns to him and sees that he’s not really listening.

“What?” Clarke asks. “Is there something on my face?” She brings her hand to her mouth, checking and he shakes his head.

“No. Sorry,” Bellamy says, stilted. Clarke frowns at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, taking a step towards him, but he shakes his head.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” he says. And then he hesitates, because Octavia was right. He’s found the perfect apartment but it’s always going to feel like it’s missing something because Clarke won’t be there with him. And he’s torn. But Clarke’s waiting for an answer.

“Don’t you like it?” she asks, and her voice is soft and disappointed, like this was a gift she’d been offering him. And he’s going to say something really fucking stupid in a minute and then she will file that sexual harassment claim she keeps threatening him with.

“I love it,” he says honestly. “It’s perfect.” She smiles and he’s been thinking about her like she’s just a girl, and he’s just a boy, but that’s not quite right. It’s more like she’s the sun, and he’s Icarus, and O is Daedalus because she fucking warned him and told him to get help in the first place.

“But…I can’t live here, I think,” Bellamy adds awkwardly, and Clarke’s brow furrows in confusion.

“But you just said it was perfect?” she questions him. Bellamy frowns.

“And, uh, I mean, thank you for your help but I think… I think I’m probably going to be fine on my own now,” Bellamy tells her, and he prays that his voice sounds normal and not harsh and abrasive like he thinks it probably does. Clarke’s looking at him with hurt and confusion. It’s not in her to give up easily without a fight, but he can see it draining out of her.

“Right,” Clarke says, finally looking away from him. “If that’s how you feel.” She moves towards the door and Bellamy had a moment of realisation that this is it. He either tells her now or never tells her and he isn’t ready for one of the options to be never, so he speaks without thinking it all the way through.

“Wait,” he says, and his voice is honest and desperate, and she stops, but doesn’t turn around. There is a pause that seems to fill up the space between them, and Bellamy’s torn between letting her anything.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, voice soft. Her shoulders stiffen.

“It’s fine, Bellamy. You have nothing to apologise for. You don’t want my help anymore, it’s not a big deal,” Clarke says, her voice light, but she hasn’t turned around and it’s not fine at all. He doesn’t know how to say what he needs to say to make it go back to normal. And at this point, he’s not sure there’s a normal to go back to. Because…

“I keep picturing us living here together,” Bellamy says. And then he feels sick, because he definitely did not mean to say that aloud and Clarke’s turning around to stare at him in shock.

“What?” Clarke asks, confused. Bellamy tries not to squirm or fidget or panic, but honestly, it’s not going well, and he feels like still being upright, in the room, and looking at her is as good as it’s going to get. He’s pretty sure she’s confused because he can’t possibly have said the thing that he just said as opposed to not hearing him, so he shrugs.

“It’s a problem. The only problem, actually, with this apartment. If I move in here, you’re going to haunt it for me. So… I can’t live here and you can’t help me anymore because I’ll picture you wherever we pick together,” Bellamy explains. He’s even looking at her face and not the wall behind her. And so far it’s not a complete trainwreck, but she still hasn’t said anything, staring at him.

“Why did you ask me in the first place, then?” Clarke asks, still confused. Which was better than indignant.

“I, uh… well, I didn’t ask, I just tricked you. And honestly, I didn’t think it’d end up here. I mean, Octavia did. But I… It doesn’t matter. Anyway. Sorry,” Bellamy attempts to explain, and he sounds lame even to himself. And Clarke is still just looking at him like he has grown a third nostril or something.

“Why did Octavia think it would end here?” Clarke asks, but this time she’s interested, and takes a step towards him. Bellamy takes a deep breath.

“Are you going to file the sexual harassment claim you keep threatening me with?” Bellamy asks, aiming for humour. He probably doesn’t quite hit the mark, but she smiles at him and snorts. God, she’s adorable, he thinks, and she’s probably not going to get him fired. So. Another moment to prepare and then…

“I might have a bit of a crush on you,” Bellamy says. Clarke looks shocked, and he finds himself tripping over words to elaborate. “Low key crush. Not a stalking you crush or anything. Just like a normal crush on a smart, funny, gorgeous girl who is fierce and kind and… well. That’s probably not helping. Anyway.” She’s still staring at him. He give her another moment before he can’t not say anything again. “Sorry. I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable. And, um. Yeah. You could… say something, maybe? At least about the sexual harassment thing because I do not want to lose my-”

“Oh shut up,” Clarke says, cutting him off, and then crosses the space between them, grabs the lapels of his jacket and pulls him down for a kiss. He is frozen in shock for all of ten seconds, and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, pressing her against the length of his body, and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

 

They are interrupted by a cough from the realtor, who is standing at the door. She smiles politely at them, and Bellamy tries to work up a little embarrassment but he was just kissing Clarke Griffin and it was awesome, so he’s struggling to feel appropriately apologetic.

“So you two obviously like the place,” the realtor says (seriously, what is her name, Bellamy thinks.) He feels Clarke push her face into his shoulder, trying to hide a blush and he loves her.

“I love it. Draw up the paperwork and I’ll sign off on it tonight,” Bellamy says. “Asking price.” The realtor beams, and moves to the kitchen where she’s left her folio, and Clarke pulls back to look up at him. He grins.

“I’m assuming that means you might have a crush on me too,” Bellamy says. Clarke rolls her eyes and hits him.

“Took you long enough, asshole,” she tells him. “You do not think I actually care about whether cups get left in the sink or the dishwasher in the staff room, do you?” Bellamy’s grin widens.

“As long you know I only kept putting them there to argue with you,” he replies. “Everything goes straight in the dishwasher at my place. Clarke swats his chest.

“You asshole,” she says, grinning. Bellamy laughs. Clarke pulls back and folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not moving in with you, you know.” Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“Well I was thinking of taking you to dinner first before I did anything rash like propose a merger,” he says dryly, and Clarke laughs and goes up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Dinner sounds great. 7pm at Polis?” Clarke asks. Bellamy nods.

“Awesome. It’s a date,” Bellamy replies.

 

Clarke has to head back to the office soon after that, and Bellamy stays to talk to the realtor for a little longer. But as he leaves the apartment building, he thinks it’s kind of a banner day. He got a girlfriend and an apartment. Octavia’s going to be so proud of him. 


End file.
